“Are sandals appropriate footwear for riding a camel, or do I need something sturdier?” I asked my companion.

“Actually,” she said, “it doesn’t matter. You ride barefoot.”

Not everywhere, you don’t (I later learned) but when in Timbuktu, you ride your camel the Tamashek way. I took off my shoes and approached my camel, who knelt in the sand and eyed me rather disdainfully. I stepped carefully over the scattered goat droppings and great swaths of wet sand where the camels had pissed. With my left foot still on the sand, I threw my right leg over the saddle and scooted in. You can stand on the kneeling animal’s leg for a boost, but they moan something awful; I chose to risk straining some awkward muscles rather than the wrath of my camel.

The wooden Tamashek-style saddle rises up high in front and back. This is to keep you from tipping out, as I found out when my camel lumbered to its feet. I hung on for dear life while Aura -- that was his? her? name -- threw me forward, then back -- I thought we were finished here, but no, not all the way up yet -- and forward again.

Once my camel was standing, I was instructed to cross my ankles and rest my feet on its bristly mane. Mohammed, my Tamashek guide, held the reins and led us by foot, and the only thing I had to remember was to lean forward when went uphill, backward when we went down. Mohammed gave me the reins for a moment, along with instructions: Hold them in one hand. Spread the toes of one foot and grasp the mane. Push the camel’s neck in the direction you want to go. The others tried some verbal commands as well, the Tamashek equivalent of “giddyup,” but they didn’t provoke anything except laughter from our guides.

We plodded four kilometers out of town and stopped on the dunes to watch the sunset. Some more Tamashek men from the local encampment came out and made us tea. After the first cup, they pulled their boutiques out of their boubous: “Tuareg passport” pendants, agate rings, leather pouches, slim ebony-handled knives. The only thing that caught my eye was an unusual necklace, not “argent Tuareg” but real sterling silver, with a large black stone pendant. Mohammed -- our friend, not my camel guide -- helped me bargain for it.

After the second cup of tea, we mounted our camels, who had been dozing in the sand. Our guides moved somewhat faster on the return to Timbuktu, whose lights glowed in the distance; the desert, vast and dark, but surprisingly full of life, receded behind us.

See pictures of the camel ride and other things to do in Timbuktu.